


It's Magic

by imamaryanne



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Coming Out, M/M, Mild Language, Past Kent Parson/Jack Zimmermann, harry potter fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-21 03:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11349237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imamaryanne/pseuds/imamaryanne
Summary: In 2001, Kent Parson reluctantly goes to see the first Harry Potter movie with his sister. He has no idea how much being a Harry Potter fan will change his life, even years later.





	It's Magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [takumiismypatronus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/takumiismypatronus/gifts).



> Many thanks to @amandacritelliwestphal for the beta

 

**December 2001**

“Mother, please. Don’t make me take him,” Kim Parson begged her mother. There was no way she was going to be forced to bring her eleven year old brother along to the movies. 

“Kim, you know I’m working every Saturday night at the restaurant this season. You don’t even need to watch him all night, but he can’t be left alone the entire evening. Just take him to the movies, drop him off at home and he’ll be fine by himself here until I can get home.” Suze Parson wanted to shake her eighteen year old daughter. The only reason she worked these restaurant shifts over the holiday season was to provide a nicer Christmas for Kim and Kent than she would have been able to afford on her salary. All of the fancy restaurants in town hired extra wait staff between Thanksgiving and Christmas to take care of the influx of office holiday parties. 

It’s not like Suze asked much of Kim. She rarely used her as a babysitter, instead paying for Kent to stay with a neighbor every day after school. But the one night Suze needed her, Kim had to get an attitude about it? 

“He doesn’t even want to see  _ Harry Potter _ ,” Kim whined.

It was true. Suze always said that Kim got the brains and Kent got the brawn. Kim had discovered the Potter books shortly after they’d been released a few years earlier, and she and her friends had fallen hard for the series. Harder than she had for any other book series, which was something because Kim loved nearly every book she could get her hands on. Kent on the other hand never read a book unless he was forced to for school. In fact, the only reason he even read those is because Suze threatened to pull him off the hockey team if he didn’t keep his grades up.

“I’ll give him arcade money if he sits through it,” Suze sighed. “I’ll talk to him, make sure he behaves for you.” 

Kent burst into the room. “I don’t want to go to the movies with her and her stupid friends!” he shouted. His boyish features were angry. “I’m old enough to stay home by myself!”

“Not the whole night long,” Suze said. 

Both Kent and Kim were taking it in turns to shout at her, and at each other. Finally Suze had had it. “Enough!” she shouted. She hated resorting to guilt, by my God these kids could be so ungrateful at times. “Do you think I  _ like  _ this? Having to go to work on the weekends just so I can afford Christmas gifts for you two _? _ You don’t think I wish I could stay home on the weekends and spend more time with you? I would  _ love _ to stay home and watch the Sabres game with Kent tonight while you go out with your friends, Kim. But that’s not how it works. We can’t always get what we want.”

Kim and Kent were both subdued. The guilt trip had worked, though it didn’t make Suze feel any less guilty for having used the tactic. 

Kim sighed and rolled her eyes in a manner befitting the eighteen-year old high school senior she was. “Fine. He can come with us.” 

“Thank you,” Suze said, reaching into her purse, pulling out some cash and handing it over to Kim. Kent was still scowling, arms crossed over his chest, but looked slightly mollified when Suze poured some quarters out of a change jar and gave it to him. “For the arcade.”   


“Thanks,” Kent mumbled unhappily, stuffing the quarters into his pocket. 

Suze finished getting ready for work, kissed her silent and angry kids good-bye and left for work with very low expectations for that night.

It was just after midnight when she got home. The living room light was on, and she was surprised to see Kent and Kim sitting on opposite ends of the couch, their outstretched legs covered in a shared afghan, talking happily to one another. Neither heard her walk in, so she stood in the doorway and listened in on their conversation.

“Then what?” Kent asked. 

“Spoilers,” Kim said.

Kent laughed, “I don’t care! I love spoilers! Tell me what happens!”

Kim sighed, “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Then, you find out Sirius Black wasn’t evil at all! The person who gave Voldemort the info about Harry’s parents was really Peter Pettigrew!”

Kent gasped, “But he’s dead!” 

“Oh no he’s not!” Kim said. “He’s an unregistered animagus-”

“What’s that?”

“A person who can transform into an animal.”

“What kind of animal?”

“In Peter’s case….” Kim paused dramatically. Suze stood there listening intently. “...a rat!”

“A rat?” Kent screeched.

“Scabbers,” Kim said. 

Kent’s eyes went wide and he covered his mouth with his hand. “No!” 

“Yes!” 

At that moment Kent’s eyes flickered toward the door where he saw Suze leaning against the door jamb. “Oh! Hi mommy!” 

“Hi kids,” Suze said, finally entering the room. “How was the movie? It’s way past Kent’s bedtime, you know.”

“Mom! Mom!” Kent got off the couch and was bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Oh my God, that movie was so good! I wish I could go to Hogwarts! Can we get an owl? Oh, look! I picked up this stick off the ground and it’s my wand.” He waved it in her face.

“So you liked it?” 

“I want to see it again!” 

“We’ll buy it when it comes out on DVD.”

“I didn’t put him to bed because he wanted me to sit here and tell him what happens in the next three books,” Kim explained. 

“I’m gonna read them!” 

“You are?” Suze asked Kent, skeptical.

“Yeah. Kim’s going to give me her copy of  _ Sorcerer’s Stone _ and I’m gonna start it tomorrow!” 

“You be careful with it,” Kim warned. “Don’t break the spine, don’t dog-ear the pages, and don’t get it dirty or wet.” 

“You have early hockey tomorrow,” Suze said to Kent. “Get to bed.”

“But Kim hasn’t finished telling me what happens in  _ Prisoner of Azkaban _ ! Or even started what happens in  _ Goblet of Fire! _ ” 

“There’s time for that,” Suze said, planting a kiss on the mop of blond hair on his head. 

“Yeah,” Kim agreed, yawning. “And a release date hasn’t even been announced for the fifth one.” 

Kent sighed, but seemed too tired to argue further. 

 

_X_

On Christmas morning, Kent, used to early morning hockey practices, woke up first. He bounded on Suze’s bed at six thirty in the morning. “Mom! Wake up! It’s Christmas!” 

Suze moaned. She knew she should appreciate this enthusiasm. By next year his boyish delight at Christmas morning could turn into teenage churlishness. That didn’t make this early morning any easier to take. She rubbed her eyes, “Go wake up your sister,” she croaked. 

Kent ran out of the room and down the hall shouting, “Kim! Wakey Wakey! Santa came!” Suze smiled; it’d been years since Kent actually believed in Santa. 

It took a great effort by both Kent and Suze to actually get Kim out of bed, and even then it was only when Suze threatened to let Kent open her presents that she actually got up. Coffee was made and Pillsbury cinnamon rolls put in the oven to bake, all while Kent anxiously hopped from one foot to another, waiting to be allowed to open his gifts.

A new hockey stick, a Sabres Jersey, the Star Wars trilogy on DVD - all of these things Kent opened with great delight. But when he opened the package of a set of the first four hardback Harry Potter books, he went quiet with reverence. “My own copies?” he asked. 

“Your very own,” Suze answered. 

He immediately opened  _ Sorcerer’s Stone _ and began reading. “You’ve just finished that one,” Kim pointed out. 

“I know,” Kent said, “But this one’s  _ mine. _ ”   
  


**July 2007**

“Kenny, look at how crowded it is,” Jack said, suddenly wishing he hadn’t agreed to this. 

“I know!” Kent crowed, “Isn’t it amazing? We’ll be surrounded by other fans.” 

Jack didn’t think that crowd looked amazing. It looked like too many people packed into too small a bookstore. There were little kids and weird adults in costumes, and it was loud and intimidating. He stopped, but Kent, who wasn’t a mind-reader and had no idea Jack was so uncomfortable, grabbed Jack’s arm and pulled him in. 

They were immediately swallowed by the throngs of people, all of them just as anxious to read the seventh, and last, installment of the  _ Harry Potter _ series as Kent was. Jack had read the first two, at Kent’s urging, but never read any further, despite Kent insisting that they got much better and much less child-like in the third. 

Jack hated crowds as it is, but this was on a whole other level. People of all ages were wearing robes, (most of them Gryffindor), had lightning bolts painted on their foreheads and were wearing fake round glasses. Some had gone for other costumes; a few small snowy owls were wandering around, and one elderly Dumbledore was getting quite a bit of attention. Jack took a deep breath and decided he’d stick it out for Kent. After all, Kent was always saying he and his sister would probably never have learned to get along if it wasn’t for their shared enthusiasm over all things Potter. 

“I can’t believe Kim is missing this,” Kent said, shaking his head. Kim had a brand new one month old girl, and said she was not getting nearly enough sleep to make it to a midnight release. 

Jack tried to grin rather than grimace, “Euh, I guess you can tell her all about it. And your niece, when she gets older.” 

“Wand-making!” Kent said happily, pointing to a table along the right side wall. “That’s what I’m going to do for Sophie; make her a wand.” 

“She’s only a month old,” Jack pointed out. 

Kent rolled his eyes. “Thanks Captain Obvious. It’ll be for when she gets older.” 

“Kenny, I don’t want a wand. I’m going to look at books,” Jack said. 

“Sure, Zimms. We need to get in line well before midnight though.” 

“I’ll find you,” Jack said, and turned on his heel to walk away. He had to wade through Harry Potters of all ages, but eventually was able to make his way back to the history section, where it was a little quieter and his breathing was able to even out. A few bored-looking dads were browsing, and Jack pulled the first WWII book he could find off the shelf and sat down to read. He could hear the crowd still, but none of the kids were back in this corner and it felt like a blessed relief to be away from it. 

He wished he could have told Kent that he didn’t want to come to the bookstore for the midnight release party. They had to skate at seven in the morning tomorrow and both of them should be in bed already. With this many people, who knew how long it would be before they got out of this store and back to their billet homes? 

But as usual, Jack wanted to do whatever he could to make Kent happy. Because who else would kiss him like that? Who else would make him feel warm and happy and like he isn’t too moody? Jack wanted to do this for Kent, even if he didn’t want to be here for himself.

Across the store, Kent met up with a teenage couple and they were in deep discussion about Severus Snape. 

“He killed Dumbledore,” said the boy flatly. “There’s no coming back from that.”

“I dunno, Chris,” said the girl with him. “I can totally see a redemption arc.” 

“I agree,” Kent said, running a swirling strip of hot glue over his sparkly gold dowel-rod that was being turned into a wand. “Snape isn’t what he seems.” 

Kent hung around Chris and his girlfriend Melissa the rest of the evening. After the wand-making, they played trivia and ate some Bertie-Botts Every Flavor Beans. 

At eleven thirty, the line started forming, and almost immediately, Jack was there by Kent’s side. “I found a book,” he said, showing Kent. 

Kent read the cover aloud, “ _ The Longest Winter. The Battle of the Bulge and the Epic Story of World War II’s Most Decorated Platoon _ .” Kent looked at Jack’s earnest face and rolled his eyes a little bit. “Fine, but you’re getting  _ Deathly Hallows _ also, right?” 

“By the time I get to the seventh book, it’ll probably already be in paperback,” Jack answered. 

The guy and the girl Kent had been hanging out with stared at Jack in confusion. Kent looked a little embarrassed. “C’mon Jack. That’s what we’re here for, to get the Potter books?” 

“Oh,” Jack shifted a little. He realized a little too late he’d made a Harry Potter faux pas. “Yeah, of course I’ll buy  _ Deathly Hallows _ now. I just, you know,” he was stammering now, “With hockey I don’t have a lot of time to read.” 

At midnight a cheer went up through the crowd at the bookstore, and several employees began walking down the line, handing out copies of the  _ Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows _ ; both the French and English editions. Kent took the English, Jack the French. The line snaked entirely around the store, and people immediately began reading as the line inched forward toward the cash registers. Jack read his history book instead. 

 

**June 2009**

Kent was sitting by himself in a small room off the GM’s office at the Aces’ arena just two days after the draft. He had a confident defiant look on his face that he prayed was masking the terror and anxiety he felt in his gut. The Aces PR staff had just spent an hour going over the do’s and don’ts of this, his very first major interview by a journalist. 

Vegas was a city of transients and tourists, and in their short history, the Aces had trouble selling out games. Even so, the Aces didn’t have competition in the way of professional football, baseball or basketball teams, so the residents didn’t have a lot of other sports distractions. There hadn’t been a draftee picked with more fanfare in the history of the franchise. The face of this eighteen year old boy was supposed to bring in more fans and possibly their first winning season. Kent knew that’s what he was supposed to do, and it made him want to vomit with fear. 

He could hear the voices outside, talking in a loud hushed whisper. He figured they didn’t want him to overhear, but he did anyway. The PR woman, Nancy, was lecturing the sports reporter from the  _ Las Vegas Review Journal _ , “You ask him one Goddamn question about Jack Zimmermann, and I swear I will yank you out of this room so fast.” 

The journalist’s voice was cajoling. “You know that’s what people want-” 

Nancy cut him off, “I don’t care. He’s an eighteen year old boy who found his best friend nearly dead just days ago. I’m telling you right now, that topic is off limits.” 

Kent felt a lump in his throat. Just moments ago, he’d been dismissive of Nancy, considering her a middle-aged woman who couldn’t have possibly known anything about him or hockey. But now he was so grateful, he could have kissed her. 

The door opened, and Kent cleared his throat and put the cool defiant mask back on his face as he swallowed any remaining fear. He stood and shook hands with the reporter, who introduced himself. “Hi Kent, Trent Nolan, Las Vegas Review Journal. We’re real excited to have you here in Vegas.” 

Kent studied Trent for a few small moments. He was an older man, probably close to fifty, and completely bald. He was tall and broad with a wide square jaw. He looked like he could have been Mark Messier’s brother. 

“Nice to meet you,” Kent muttered, already not liking this guy who probably wanted nothing more than juicy details about Jack Zimmermann’s overdose. He was grateful when Nancy took a seat behind Trent, obviously not wanting to leave Kent alone with this man.

The questions were innocuous enough, it turned out. Kent was able to remember much of what Nancy had said to him and answered accordingly. He talked about growing up just outside of Buffalo, and made bland jokes comparing the weather in Buffalo and Vegas. He mentioned the support of his mother and sister, and talked about how much he looked forward to working with the Aces, and helping the new franchise grow. 

When Trent asked him to tell something surprising about himself, Kent paused. The thing that would surprise people most was him being gay, but obviously that topic was off the table. Instead he answered, “I really love the Harry Potter series. I’ve read them at least three times and I don’t even know how many times I’ve seen the movies.” 

It was a good answer. Nancy smiled encouragingly, and Trent’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “What do you like about them?” 

“Well,” Kent said slowly. “You know, Harry’s parents died when he was only a year old, and that’s how old I was when my dad died. So I kind of relate a little bit. And Ron Weasley grew up in a house where his dad worked real hard, but didn’t make a lot of money, and that’s how it was for me too. My mom worked very hard as a legal secretary and even waited tables on weekends to raise me and my sister and keep me in hockey, which I know isn’t cheap. So, I relate to Ron too.” Kent paused, then added almost apologetically, “I was a bad student though, and I don’t read much besides Harry Potter, so I can’t relate to Hermione much at all.” 

Trent threw back his head and laughed.

Kent was relieved that the answer had gone over so well, but he couldn’t actually talk about how he  _ really _ related to Potter. That last year, when it had been him and Zimms together, all the time on and off the ice, he’d felt like Jack Zimmermann was the Harry Potter to his own Ron Weasley. Jack Zimmermann was a well-known hockey prodigy from a young age, like Potter had been a well known dark-wizard defeater. Ron Weasley was the scrappy sidekick who rarely wavered in his loyalty to Harry Potter. And so it’d been for Kent. When the other guys on the team complained about Jack’s surly attitude, or that Jack was named Captain because of his last name and not his talent, it was Kent who was there to fight for him. 

Jack’s overdose was difficult enough for Kent to wrap his head around. Because he didn’t think of Jack as just Jack. Jack was a part of  _ them.  _ He was half of JackAndKent, just like Harry wasn’t just Harry. He was a third of HarryAndRonAndHermione. But the calls Kent made to Jack’s cell phone went unanswered, the texts not even opened and the emails unread. 

It was preposterous to think that Harry Potter would ever give up on Ron Weasley, because God knows Ron Weasley would never give up on Harry. At least not Kent’s Ron. When Bob Zimmermann called to congratulate Kent on getting drafted to Vegas, he sounded weak and tired. “How’s Jack?” Kent had asked. 

“He’s…..” Bob’s voice broke off. “Be patient with him, Kent? I know he isn’t talking to you now, but he’ll come around.” 

_ He’ll come around.  _ Kent held onto those words like a life preserver while he drowned in a sea of uncertainty and fear about his future without Jack and being a rookie in the NHL without him. 

_ He’ll come around, _ Kent told himself again as he finished up his interview for the paper.   
  


**December 2014**

Kent awoke to his phone buzzing, indicating he had a text message. He opened his eyes and saw that it was from his sister, Kim. 

_              We’re taking Sophie to South Carolina over Spring Break next year, and look what’s happening just a couple towns over from my in-laws house!!!!!! _

Kent clicked on the link in Kim’s text. It was for the finals to the US Quidditch World Cup. Kent was intrigued. Quidditch? 

He texted back a string of question marks. 

It was only seconds before Kim replied.

_             There is muggle Quidditch!!!!! There’s a league and everything. A team from Vegas is going to be competing in the finals!!!!! _

Kim had to have been excited to be talking in exclamation marks like that. 

_             How does muggle quidditch even work?  _

_             IDK. I’m going to look for vids on YouTube. _

_            Send me the links. I just woke up and need to get ready to go to the arena.  _

Kent had morning skate, but with no game that evening, he was free the rest of the afternoon and evening. When he got back to his condo, Kim was there with Sophie. “Whatcha doing here?” he asked. 

“Look,” Kim said, showing Kent the videos of muggle quidditch.

Seven year old Sophie had Kent’s broom and was running around the living room with it between her knees. “I’m gonna catch the snitch!” she was shouting. “Uncle Kent, watch me!” 

“Good job, Soph,” he said as he pulled Kim’s laptop toward him. Sure enough, there were people running around a soccer field, holding broomsticks between their legs, much like Sophie was doing now. It was surprisingly difficult to follow, with the position players wearing different colored headbands to show their position. Plus, the snitch was a person wearing all yellow.  It took a long time of watching videos and googling before they figured out how the rules for muggle quidditch played out. 

“What’s the Vegas team?” Kent asked. 

Kim did a little more Googling. “There’s a team at UNLV, and a team in North Las Vegas called the Sin City Quid Pro Quo. And, oh look. The Quid Pro Quo have a Go Fund Me set up to get out to South Carolina for the finals.” 

“Huh,” Kent said. 

“You gonna donate?” Kim asked. 

Kent shrugged, “Maybe.”

“I wish you could come,” Kim said. 

“Nah, it’s fine. My season’ll still be going on. I don’t get a spring break.”

“Maybe they’ll have something going on for the summer. Some games in the area or something we can go to.” 

_X_

 

Kent went on the website for the Sin City Quid Pro Quo, and looked for a contact number. There was no number, but there was an email address for the Captain, Emilio Bautista. Kent hated writing emails, so he made Nancy from PR do it. From her official Las Vegas Aces account, she wrote,

_ Dear Mr. Bautista, _

_ It is with great pleasure that I bring you the news that the trip for the Sin City Quid Pro Quo to the 2015 Quidditch World Cup finals in Rock Hill, SC  will be fully funded by one of our players, Kent Parson. As he has stated in several interviews, Kent is a fan of all things Potter-related, and he is pleased to be able to help out fellow fans.  _

_ Kent will be in contact with you personally in the next few business days to iron out the details. He plans on covering the cost of flight and hotel for the entire team.  _

_ The Aces wish your team the best of luck in representing our city at the Quidditch World Cup.  _

 

_ Best wishes, _

_ Nancy Brewer _

_ Vice President of Public Relations _

_ Las Vegas Aces _

 

_X_  
  


“Mr. Parson, I don’t know how to thank you,” said the man who had to have been Emilio Bautista. He had agreed to meet Kent at coffee shop near Kent’s building, a few days after Nancy sent her email. Nancy had wanted him to come to the office, but Kent wanted to keep it casual. 

Kent hadn’t expected Emilio to be so handsome. From the videos of muggle quidditch he’d watched, he couldn’t help but notice that a lot of the athletes didn’t exactly  _ look _ like athletes. They looked like….well, they looked like people who’d spent more of their childhood with their noses in books than on a soccer field or hockey rink. They were kind of nerdy. 

But Emilio was well built, taller than Kent but not by much. Broad shouldered, dark hair and olive skin and very straight white teeth. And handsome.  _ Christ,  _ was he handsome. 

“Do  _ not  _ call me Mr. Parson,” Kent said, in what he hoped was a friendly voice. “Please call me Kent.” 

Emilio made a face, like he wasn’t sure he  _ should  _ call him Kent, but said, “OK, Kent. Thank you from the whole team. We really don’t know how to thank you.” 

“You are very welcome,” Kent answered. He hadn’t been nervous at all about this meeting, but he hadn’t expected to come here be so attracted to a quidditch player. 

“How do you want to do this?” Emilio asked. He sounded nervous too. 

“I wanted to make a direct donation,” Kent said. “Go Fund Me takes a percentage, right?”

“Yes.” 

“Do you know the cost?” 

“We’ve already booked rooms, two per room. And we’ve priced out flights. There’s seven of us on the team, plus one coach and two reserves, that’s a total of ten of us going.” Emilio pulled out a spreadsheet. “This is what we have here.” He showed Kent the price.

Kent pulled out his checkbook, rounded the number on the bottom of the spreadsheet up to the nearest thousand and wrote out a check right there.

Emilio’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. That’s way too much. The spreadsheet included food and car rentals - all things that we can work on covering.” 

Kent waved him off, and held out the check. “I’ve got it,” he said breezily. What the fuck was the point of having a ridiculous contract if you couldn’t do things like this with it?

Emilio looked uncertain at the check being held out to him. Kent shook it impatiently, “Take it,” he urged. 

Emilio took it gingerly and pocketed it. “Thank you. You know we’re not a non-profit, right? You can’t deduct this on your taxes or anything.”

“That’s not why I’m doing it,” Kent said. 

“OK. Why are you doing it?”

“Because the Harry Potter books mean a lot to me, and to my sister and niece who are going to be in South Carolina next year during the finals. I have the money and I like being able to help fellow fans out.”  It was an answer he would have given to a reporter. 

Emilio seemed to relax. “How old were you when you first read them?”

“Eleven,” Kent answered. “I saw the movie first, then got the first four books that Christmas. How about you?”

“I was nine when the first movie came out,” Emilio answered. “But the same as you. I saw the movie then read the first few books.”

“Midnight releases?”

“Every single one starting at  _ Order of the Phoenix. _ ”

Kent laughed, “Me too.” 

“Did you cry at the end?” Emilio asked. “You don’t have to answer that,” he added quickly. 

“Not at the very end,” Kent said. “But when Hedwig died, when Dobby died and definitely when Fred died.” 

“Didn’t we all?” 

They sat in silence for a few moments before Emilio asked, “Favorite character?”

“Ron,” Kent answered immediately. “You?”

“Neville,” Emilio said just as quickly.

“Really? You don’t hear that one much.” 

“I loved how unassuming he was until the end when he turned into a total badass. And when he killed that last horcrux?”

“Chills,” Kent filled in. 

“Exactly,” Emilio said. “It helps that the actor grew up to be-” he stopped what he was saying and looked mildly embarrassed. 

Kent knew exactly what Emilio was going to say. Matthew Lewis, who played Neville Longbottom in the films, grew up to be extremely handsome. “Yeah,” Kent agreed. “I get it.” He took a sip of his coffee. 

Emilio visibly relaxed. “House?” 

“Slytherin,” Kent answered. “You?”

Emilio already knew Kent was a Slytherin. When he’d gotten the email from Nancy at the Aces, he’d Googled Kent and found him listed on a Buzzfeed listicle,  _ Ten Celebs Who are as Big a Potter-nerd as You, _ where Kent (number eight on the list between Selena Gomez and Anna Kendrick) was pictured wearing a Proud Slytherin T-shirt. “Hufflepuff.”  

They finished their coffees as they continued to talk, mostly about Harry Potter, but the conversation drifted to other topics. Emilio was a Henderson, NV native and graduated two years earlier from UNLV. He’d played quidditch in college, then immediately joined the Sin City team. Bilingual in English and Spanish, he also worked as an ESOL teacher at a local high school. 

Kent told Emilio about his mom and sister moving out to Vegas with him after he signed with the Aces. 

“You could bring your niece to a practice,” Emilio offered. “Or to a match when we have them nearby.” 

“I don’t know if I could,” Kent said. “I’m busy during the season. But my sister could probably bring her by.” 

“Of course,” Emilio said. “Anytime. We’d love to have her.”

Kent pulled out his phone, “Let me have your number and I’ll let you know if they’re going to come by.” Sure, he’d probably send Kim out to watch quidditch practice, but really he’d been looking for an excuse to get Emilio’s number without seeming to forward. Emilio hadn’t said anything about having a boyfriend (or girlfriend for that matter, but Kent was about ninety percent sure Emilio was gay). 

Emilio hesitated and Kent raised his eyebrows. “You don’t want me to have your number?”

“You can have my number,” Emilio said. “This is just a little weird for me.” 

“Why?” Kent didn’t really have to ask, he already knew the answer. 

“You’re famous,” Emilio said. “A famous person just asked me for my number.” He leaned back and ran his fingers through his hair, looking shocked at the afternoon he’d just had; having coffee and conversation with the Captain of the Las Vegas Aces. A Captain with a reputation for being angry and snarky and frankly, a little conceited.

“I’m just a guy,” Kent said, trying to sound humble, and not as anxious to get Emilio’s number as he really was. “I’m a fellow Potter-fan and I have a niece who would probably like quidditch more than she likes hockey.” 

Emilio gave Kent his number, then Kent sent Emilio a text.  _ Kent’s number,  _ was all it said. 

Kent and Emilio went their separate ways. Kent looked at the time on his cell phone and was shocked to see that more than two hours had passed. He opened up his texts and typed out a quick note to Kim. 

_               Help. I met a guy.  _

 

**January 2015**

Weeks later, Kent had exactly two things on his mind. First, his disastrous attempt to visit Jack Zimmermann at Samwell. He was trying his hardest to forget about that though. Second, he couldn’t stop thinking about Emilio. It had been over a month and Kent wanted to meet up with him again, but couldn’t find an excuse to call or text him. 

One morning Kent got a text from Emilio. He opened it greedily. 

_                 Someone from the LV Review Journal called me. They wanted to talk about you donating money for our quidditch team. Let me know how to handle this before                 I call her back.  _

Kent was about a thousand percent sure that was Kim’s doing, after he’d rejected every single piece of advice she’d given him about how to get in touch with Emilio again. He could thank her later. 

_                Was it Trent Nolan? The sportswriter? _

_               No. It was someone from the Lifestyle section. Denise something.  _

Kent breathed a sigh of relief. He’d never much liked Trent Nolan, and resented the hell out of having to pretend to like him because he held the keys to Kent’s good publicity. He was fairly certain Trent knew he was gay - just the way he asked him certain questions. Kent just plain didn’t trust the guy, and hadn’t ever since that first day they met. 

_ Let me talk to Nancy first before you do anything. _

_X_  
  


“What do you want to do, Kent? You want to be a part of the article or not?” Nancy asked him. 

“I want the article to be about the Quidditch team, not me,” Kent said. 

“You sound uncertain.” 

Kent sighed, stuck his head out of Nancy’s office to make sure no one was there, then shut the door. “I want to ask him out.” 

“Who?”

“Emilio. The captain of the quidditch team.” 

“Oooh,” Nancy nodded her head, suddenly understanding. She chuckled lightly. “I get it. This is a way for you to spend more time with a  _ guy _ you like.” 

Kent felt himself blush, “Stop it,” he begged her. Nancy was the only person in the entire Aces organization who knew about Kent being gay. She was the head of PR, after all, and if it had ever gotten out, she’d be the one to make a statement. But it was more than her being the head of PR. Kent loved her like a second mother. Ever since he’d overheard Nancy lecturing Trent Nolan over the questions involving Jack Zimmermann, Kent had felt like he could trust her with his life. Hell, until Kim and Suze moved out to Vegas in Kent’s second year, he’d lived in Nancy’s spare bedroom and spent far too many evenings playing Mario Kart with her eleven year old son. 

“Do the article,” Nancy said. She appeared to be holding in her laughter. 

“Can you,” Kent broke off, and began stammering, “Maybe you can, you know, suggest me and Emilio get interviewed together?” 

Nancy couldn’t hold it in any longer. She guffawed, “Lord Kent, are you this out of practice?”

“Shut up, you know I am.” It was true. As much as Kent wanted to get laid (and God, did he want to get laid) he knew going out and trying to get laid could derail his hockey career. Except for anonymously hooking up on vacations in the Caribbean every summer, Kent was basically celibate. And actually asking a guy out? Like on a date? Forget it. 

Nancy, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice, said, “Of course I’ll make the suggestion. I still have Emilio’s email address here, let me just send him a quick note.” She turned to her computer and spent a few minutes typing, finally reading the email aloud to Kent. It was simple, her letting Emilio know it was fine for him to talk to the paper. She slyly suggested to Emilio to let the reporter know Kent would be open to being interviewed with him. 

“Thank you,” Kent said. He was pleased with the outcome, even if he was mildly humiliated to have asked Nancy for her help like this. 

“Let me know if we need to get him to sign an NDA!” Nancy said in a sing-song voice. Kent rolled his eyes. Being a professional athlete in a city like Las Vegas meant several of his teammates (all straight, of course) had several women who needed to sign them. Nancy was generally a good sport about it, preferring her players be honest with her about visiting local brothels than have to deal with the fallout of their dishonesty. 

Before heading to the ice, Kent hid in a bathroom stall and texted Emilio.  _ Nancy sent you an email about the article thing. Maybe we should meet up for lunch beforehand and talk about what we’d say in an interview?  _ He read the text over and over several times, his stomach clenched with nerves. Finally he took some deep calming breaths and hit send. 

 

_X_  
  


“How’d you leave it?” Kim asked. 

Kent shrugged. “Friendly,” he answered. “We had lunch together and did the interview together and we’ve been texting here and there.” 

“Texting? Anything interesting? Flirty?” 

“I don’t know about flirty. But it’s all interesting to me because I’m getting to know the guy. And he mentioned he loves cats but he can’t have one because his roommate is allergic, so I keep sending pictures of Kit.” 

Kim sighed. “Sending cat pics isn’t a way to get a guy.” 

“I don’t know if you’re making a dick pics joke. Anyway, I’m not going out with a guy who isn’t into cats,” Kent said. “Love me, love Kit.” Kent bent down and picked Kit up and stroked her fur, kissing her head. She purred and rubbed the top of her head into Kent’s chin. Kent grabbed his phone and took a quick selfie of him and Kit. 

“Sending that one to him too?” Kim asked, rolling her eyes.

“Dunno,” Kent said. “I haven’t sent him a selfie. That just feels really forward.” 

“Jesus, Kent. You  _ like  _ this guy. You’re pretty sure he likes you. You need to be forward here, because God knows he’s probably waiting for you to make a move.  _ He _ probably doesn’t know how to ask a famous athlete out, or even if he should.” 

Kent set Kit carefully to the ground and fiddled with his phone. “You’re right,” he said at last. He texted the pic to Emilio with the caption, “The only girl for me.” He hadn’t exactly  _ told _ Emilio he’s gay, but he’d made enough hints like that to get his point across. Emilio on the other hand, told him outright while they were having the lunch that was an excuse to prepare for the interview.  

He got a text back almost immediately and Kent’s eyes went wide as he blanched. 

“What?” Kim asked, “Dick pic?” She snatched the phone from him, glanced at the screen and laughed out loud, “Holy shit!” 

It wasn’t a dick pic, but it was a string of kissy-face emojis.   
  


_X_

 

“Uncle Kent, you’re going to love it,” Sophie said firmly. She was in the backseat of Kim’s car, Kent riding shotgun. 

“He’ll love  _ something _ about it, all right,” Kim muttered. 

Kent punched her lightly in the arm, as he turned to look at Sophie. “You’ll have to introduce me to everyone.” 

“They all already know who you are,” Sophie said. She was used to people knowing her uncle. 

“But I don’t know any of them except Emilio,” Kent reminded her. 

“Emilio’s nice,” she said. “He’s the Captain like you’re the Captain. Except he also has a real job.”

Kent guffawed, “My job isn’t a real job?”

“It’s not like being a teacher,” Sophie said. “You just play sports.” 

Kent snorted, “Yeah, but I do it so well.” 

Sophie shrugged, unimpressed. 

Kent had a slightly sprained ankle. Nothing too serious, but just serious enough to have gotten him out of skating for a few days and out of the following night’s game. Coincidentally, the Sin City Quid Pro Quo had a practice in a park in North Las Vegas that Sophie was dying to go to watch, so Kent was tagging along. 

And, yes, he could have gone by himself. But going without Sophie there as an excuse for why he, a grown man and famous athlete, was watching amateur quidditch would have made him feel oddly exposed. 

Kim pulled the car into a space at Craig Ranch Park, and headed over to one of the patchy fields where a group of people were huddled, broomsticks in hand. 

Kent recognized Emilio immediately in the middle of the huddle. He was the tallest and fittest person on the field. Not to mention the best looking, but Kent made it a point not to stare. Emilio saw Kent, Kim, and Sophie on the sidelines and grinned at them, but kept on talking to his team. The huddle broke and Kent noticed the whispers and stares at them. 

Emilio made them finish practice before giving his team a chance to come over to Kent, who was watching practice with interest. 

Muggle Quidditch wasn’t terribly easy to follow. There were three different balls to keep an eye on, and he kept getting confused who was in what position. It was obvious Emilio was the best player, but that wasn’t saying much. None of the players took it very seriously, often laughing and shrugging off mistakes. Kent hated to admit how much it pained him to see, and he had to remind himself over and over that they weren’t professionals. All of them had, as Sophie would call it, ‘real’ jobs that had nothing to do with athletics. He knew from Emilio (who was a teacher) that the team consisted of, among other jobs, a couple of waitresses, one insurance agent, and one tattoo artist. 

It was fun to watch such a disparate group of people having a good time though, and by the end, Kent was smiling. He’d spent so much of his life in serious competitive athletics, it had hardly occurred to him that people did things like this for fun. Not just for fun, but for the love of a series of books. The appeal of _ Harry Potter _ was enough to make even Kent Parson forget about being hypercompetitive, even if it was just for an evening. 

Emilio led the team over to the three of them after practice and introduced everyone. “This is Kent Parson, guys. Kent we have Sam, Dierdre, Tyrone, Evan, Robert, Rebecca, Josh, Clint, and Amy.” He pointed to each person as he said their names. 

“I will never remember all of that,” Kent said and everyone laughed. 

Emilio hung back as each of the players came up to Kent. They all thanked him for his generous donation to the team for their trip, and most had either photos, or a copy of the article he and Emilio had been interviewed for in the newspaper to sign. Emilio looked vaguely embarrassed that his teammates were asking for autographs, but Kent didn’t mind. It was part of the package of being a professional athlete. He put on his bland public-figure smile and made small talk the way all the Aces had been taught by Nancy. 

It was also adorable to get to see Sophie gush over the quidditch players like she was. She’d met plenty of the Aces, and even played with Marc Alaire’s daughter on occasion. And she never cared one way or the other that the Aces were famous athletes. Give them a Harry Potter connection though? And she was over the moon. She was showing off her favorite wand, the one Kent had made way back in Juniors. 

Finally Emilio came up to him as the team started drifting away, so he and Kent were slightly separated from the rest of the group. “Sophie says you made her that wand?” 

Kent nodded, “She was only a month old. It was at the release party for  _ Deathly Hallows _ .” 

“That’s adorable, you know.” 

Kent shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets. 

“How’s your ankle?” 

“Better,” Kent answered. “I’m out for tomorrow’s game, but should be able to get back on skates the day or two after.” 

“No crutches?” 

Kent shook his head. “I’ve got ‘em, and used ‘em a little for a couple days. But I’m just keeping it wrapped tight.” 

Emilio glanced at his watch. “You want to go get dinner?” 

Kent’s stomach turned in excitement. “Like, a date?” he asked quietly so no one could overhear. 

Emilio paused. “If that’s what you want it to be.” He kept his voice even, but Kent could hear a quaver of excitement in it. 

Kent turned a little, so he was facing Emilio, but his back was to Kim, Sophie and the rest of the quidditch team. “Are you out to your teammates?” 

“Yeah,” Emilio looked confused about why Kent would even ask that.

“OK, well no offense. If I leave with you right now, in front of your whole team, they are going to think we’re dating. And I’m very,  _ very _ closeted. So you should know that right now, right up front. I’m deep in the closet and with my job I’m not planning on opening that closet door any time soon.” 

Emilio’s eyes met Kent’s and he held his gaze for several moments before answering. “OK. We can drive to dinner separately.” 

“Did you understand what I’m trying to tell you?” 

“Yes,” Emilio answered. 

“And?”

“And why don’t we talk about this over dinner?”

Kent pulled out his phone and texted Emilio the name of a restaurant near his home. “Meet me there in an hour,” he said. 

Emilio looked at his phone and back up at Kent and grinned. “See you in an hour.” 

_X_

The restaurant Kent chose was a steakhouse. Not one of the nicer ones in Vegas, but not low-class either. He chose it because the booths had high backs, affording a sense of privacy you don’t often get in restaurants. For that reason, and that it was near his apartment building, and the staff never fawned over him, it was a restaurant he frequently went to.

He beat Emilio there, and was shown to a table in the corner, giving him even more privacy. He had just enough time to psych himself up; to remind himself that Emilio Bautista is  _ not  _ Jack Zimmermann, and that fucking things up with Jack back in December at Samwell could turn out to be a good thing in the long run. His therapist kept telling him that and at some point, Kent might even believe her. 

Within minutes, Emilio was shown to his table. Kent noticed the hostess giving them a curious look. Usually when Kent ate here, it was with his family or a teammate. 

“Nice place,” Emilio remarked, opening his menu. 

“I live nearby,” Kent said, pointing vaguely in the direction of his building. 

They quieted down as they studied the menu, ordering drinks first, unsweetened iced tea for Kent who abstained from all alcohol and most sugars during the season, and a beer for Emilio, who insisted that nothing could taste worse than unsweetened iced tea. 

There was a pause in conversation after their waiter took their orders. “So,” Emilio said awkwardly.  “Is this a date?” 

Kent shrugged. “Don’t know yet.” 

“If it were only up to me it would be,” Emilio said. Then he cleared his throat and looked slightly embarrassed that he’d been so open and forward. He leaned back and fiddled with the corner of his cloth napkin. 

Kent sat on his hands and looked around, assessing their level of privacy. “I told you how closeted I am.” 

“That’s not a problem,” Emilio said. 

“You say that, but you don’t really know,” Kent insisted. “Dating someone like me? It’s going to be a lot of work on your part. You can’t tell your family you’re seeing someone. We can’t be seen in public too much. When we go out, and I drive you nuts, there aren’t people you can talk to about it.”

“I can’t tell  _ anyone? _ ” Emilio sounded skeptical. “Not even, like ‘hey, Mom, there’s this guy, but he’s not out so I can’t bring him around?’” 

“No,” Kent shook his head. “Not at first anyway. If things progress….” Kent blushed realizing he’d probably just gotten  _ way _ ahead of himself. 

Emilio seemed unaware that Kent had said anything unusual. “It doesn’t sound like the worst thing ever.” 

Kent was sure Emilio just wasn’t getting it. “I told Nancy in PR that we were texting.” 

“OK?” Emilio really was confused now. 

“She wanted to know if I needed to get you to sign an NDA,” Kent chuckled like it was a joke, but he watched Emilio carefully. 

“What’s an NDA?” 

“A Non-Disclosure Agreement.” 

“I don’t get it.” 

“Famous people sometimes have people they’re fucking sign them. So people don’t go running to the media and announce that they’re fucking whatever famous person and that he has a choking or a piss kink.”

“Fame is a bitch,” Emilio said, sounding as though this was a surprise to him. 

“It can be,” Kent said. “But it comes with a very big paycheck, so we don’t complain.

“So what’re you saying? You want me to sign this NDA? Kent, I’ll sign whatever you want me to, but I’m not telling anyone anything. That would be a supremely shitty thing to do. You could walk out of this date and never talk to me again and I won’t say anything. You could take me back to your place and ask me to piss on you and I wouldn’t say anything, whether or not I sign an NDA.” 

“I’m not actually asking you to sign it,” Kent said. “I’m using the NDA as an example. I’m pointing out that being with me isn’t like being with other people. It comes with a lot of baggage. Fame baggage and closet baggage.”

“So basically, I have to decide if you’re worth it?” Emilio asked. 

“Basically, yes,” Kent answered.

“Do you need an answer immediately?” 

“What?” 

“Do you need to know right now, right this second, whether or not I think you’re worth it?” 

Kent laughed a little, “I guess not.” 

“Good,” Emilio said. “Because maybe we should just try to enjoy dinner? And see how things go?” 

Kent felt uneasy, and it must have shown on his face because Emilio said, “What?” 

“I just think you should know that I’m probably not,” Kent said. “I don’t want you to be surprised.” 

“You think you’re probably not worth the hassle of a relationship with? Why?” 

“I’m a mess of a person,” Kent answered honestly. He started ticking off his various shortcomings on his fingers, “I’m moody, I’ve been in therapy forever and it hasn’t helped, I don’t let people get close to me, I haven’t been in a real relationship since I was a teenager and I have no fucking clue what I’m doing, that relationship ended….badly, it was probably my fault that it did, I’m close to my teammates but not actually friends with any of them, I’ve been told I’m a real mama’s boy, and when I lose a hockey game I become unbearably angry.” 

Emilio looked amused, “You sure know how to sell yourself,” he said sardonically. 

Kent huffed in impatience. “I can sell myself on hockey. I’m the fastest player in the league, I handle the puck better than ninety percent of the league, and I’m clearly the best on my team. My hockey’s good. It’s my humanity that could use some work.” 

“If you’re such a terrible person, why’d you donate the entire cost for the Quid Pro Quo to go to South Carolina next year?” Emilio was challenging him. “Why’d you make Sophie that wand?” 

“Sophie’s my niece,” Kent explained. “Kim is my sister and is my best friend too. I’m not terrible to them. I just have issues.” 

“We all have issues, Kent,” Emilio said. He sounded close to exasperated now. “I have issues too, okay?” Emilio imitated Kent in ticking his issues off on his fingers, “I’m impatient, I don’t call my mother enough, my house is a mess, and I get these bouts of laziness everyone keeps telling me are depression but I won’t go see a doctor about it.” He paused and looked at Kent, “Are you trying to get me to drop this? We can leave here and go our separate ways, if that’s what you want. Because right now it seems like you’re trying to push me that way.” 

“I’m not-” Kent started, but they were interrupted by their salads being brought. They both waited silently, giving the waiter grim smiles as he placed their salads in front of them and began grinding pepper. 

As soon as the waiter left, Kent speared a cucumber and bit into it savagely. “I’m not trying to push you away,” he explained. “I’m trying to give you a fair warning of what you could be getting into.” 

Emilio scowled, “Consider me warned.” 

They both picked silently at their salads for a few minutes. Finally Kent put down his fork and asked honestly, “Did I ruin this thing before it even started?” 

“What?” Emilio asked. 

“Because that’s what it feels like. These past few weeks, I’ve felt like there’s been something between us, and I don’t know if I fucked it all up with my bullshit just now.” 

Emilio snorted, “You didn’t fuck it up, Kent. You’re being honest. That’s a good thing, you know?” 

“I don’t know that, actually.” Kent said. “I don’t know anything about relationships.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Emilio said. “We can just take it one day at a time. We don’t have to decide anything right this second.” 

Kent nodded. He hated not having a plan, some instruction set for how to best attack this relationship or friendship or whatever it was. But here, he was the amateur, and Emilio was...well. Was Emilio a pro?

“How many relationships have you had?” 

“Uh, like actual boyfriends who I was monogamous with?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Two. One for about a year in college and one who I lived with for a little bit last year.” 

“That’s a lot more experience than me.” 

Emilio laughed, “It’s not like I’m an expert, though.” 

“But one day at a time, huh?” Kent asked. 

Emilio nodded in agreement, “One day at a time,” he said again. 

The were quietly contemplative for a few minutes until their meals were served. As they began cutting their steaks and eating, the conversation flowed. 

It was much like it had been that first day when they met for coffee. Kent, usually cool and standoffish with new people, was amazed at how quickly he felt comfortable with Emilio. They talked more about their families and their plans for the future. Emilio was shocked Kent hadn’t thought about post-NHL life. 

They left the restaurant and walked slowly towards their cars. Emilio’s old Hyundai was parked right next to Kent’s nearly brand-new Audi. Kent looked appreciatively at Emilio’s car. It had an Obama/Biden 2012 bumper sticker, a staff parking sticker for the high school where he taught, and a frame around the license plate that said “My other vehicle is a Firebolt.” 

“It’s...well, it’s not as nice as yours,” Emilio said.

“It reminds me of my mom’s car when I was growing up,” Kent said. He was smiling fondly and getting reminiscent. “She loved that car. It was a Chevy Cavalier station wagon and it was nearly as old as I was. She bought it with the life insurance money after my dad died, and by the time I bought her a new car when I signed with the Aces it had almost two hundred thousand miles on it.” 

Emilio patted his car’s roof. “This baby is ten years old, and I love her so much.” 

“Did you name her?” Kent asked. His mom had named the Cavalier  _ Mitzi. _ He never was quite sure why.

“Do you name your cars?” Emilio asked. 

Kent shook his head, “Only old used cars get names. My cars are always new and don’t have any personality.” 

“I call her Booster,” Emilio said. “She’s a girl, obviously. But I named her for Booster Gold, my favorite comic character.” 

“Adorable,” Kent said. It was adorable, and Kent couldn’t have sounded sarcastic if he’d tried. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Well...” He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“Yeah, maybe I should head out.” 

“Sure,” Kent said. He looked around again to see how much privacy they had and to gather his nerve. “Unless, you wanted to come back to my place?” 

 

**April 2015**

 

“I can’t believe you’re the one leaving now,” Kent said. 

He was lying naked in bed with Emilio. The Quidditch World Cup was just a couple days away, and Emilio was all packed and ready to go. He’d swung by Kent’s place to say goodbye, which had turned into much more than just goodbye. It always ended up that way when Kent would have to leave for a roadie. 

“Now you know how I feel,” Emilio joked. “You’re gone so much during the season, and I’m the one sitting at home, all lonely waiting for you.” 

“Hah!” Kent laughed. “Lonely my ass. You go to work. You have friends.” 

“I like you better,” Emilio grinned, leaning over for a kiss. Kent tried to pull him down on top of him, but Emilio hummed and pulled away. “Kim’s gonna be here any minute,” he reminded Kent.

Kent frowned. Kim, her husband Ryan, and Sophie were taking the same flight to Columbia, South Carolina as the rest of the Quidditch team. Sophie was in love with Quidditch and had become something of a mascot for the Sin City Quid Pro Quo.

He watched as Emilio went to the bathroom, then pulled on his pants and shirt and checked his bag one last time to make sure he had everything. “I wonder if we’ll be able to take our brooms carry-on, or if we’ll have to check them?” 

“I don’t think Quidditch Supplies are listed on the TSA website,” Kent said sardonically. 

“Buncha muggles,” Emilio said. 

Kent snorted. “I hope you have some good matches.” 

Emilio shrugged, “It’s mostly for the experience, ya know? All the other Potter fans from all over, getting to geek out.” He kneeled on the bed for another kiss. 

“I wish I could go.” Kent tried again, unsuccessfully, to pull Emilio back down on top of him. 

“I wish you could too.” The idea of Kent not playing as the Aces were fighting for first place in the West was laughable. He’d be content with the endless videos and pics that Kim and Sophie were sure to be sending. 

There was a knock at the door, and Kent and Emilio hopped out of bed. Kent pulled a pair of track pants on before going to answer it. Kim and Ryan were there, standing behind Sophie who was bouncing up and down. “Uncle Kent!” she said. “I’m going to see Gran and Gramps and I’m going to see Quidditch!” 

“I know!” Kent said. “Aren’t you excited?” He stood to the side to let them in. 

“Emilio!” Sophie shouted, running full speed to him.

“Hey, kiddo!” He said picking her up and spinning her around. He put her down and turned to Kim and Ryan. “Thanks for the lift to the airport.” 

“No problem,” Ryan said. 

Emilio grabbed his things, Sophie having run off with his broomstick, and headed for the door. 

Kent hugged Kim and Sophie, then kissed Emilio goodbye. “Have fun!” he called out, as they walked down the hall toward the elevator. 

Kent kept himself busy those days. They had games in Vegas on Friday night and Sunday afternoon, so he was at the arena for most of it. But on the occasion he had a few minutes, he checked out the pictures and videos he was being inundated with. The Sin City Quid Pro Quo managed only one win, and were knocked out early Saturday. Not having to play at all on Sunday, meant Kent got a lot of drunk texts Saturday night from Emilio and a lot of drunken photos from a nearby bar, where impromptu Potter trivia contests were breaking out, which Kim won. 

Emilio got home from South Carolina Monday afternoon and spent the rest of the day and evening with Kent. It was Emilio’s spring break as well. The Aces were playing in Dallas and Kent got Emilio a plane ticket, game ticket, and a hotel room that Kent could sneak into at night. 

No one on his team knew about Emilio. There were days Kent wanted to change that, and days when he knew he couldn’t. Maybe if he’d been a Gryffindor, he’d be able to do it.  
  


**June 2016**

 

“Babe,” Emilio said, cracking eggs into a bowl and scrambling them up. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m ready too. But don’t out yourself just because you think you should.” 

Kent was biting his fingernail. This had been a more frequent topic of conversation lately. The only person on the Aces who knew about Emilio was still Nancy. Players and their wives kept finding women to try and set Kent up with. He’d be invited to dinner or to a party, and inevitably he’d be introduced to a single woman. They were all beautiful and charming to be sure, but still. They were women. It was enough to make a gay guy want to scream. 

He didn’t scream, but his annoyance was becoming more pronounced. He could see it in himself. When he and Emilio had first started going out, Kent had an immediate improvement in his attitude. He was happier and even though their relationship was private, it felt like this wonderful secret between the two of them. As time went on, the secretiveness became less romantic and more annoying. Then he’d get angry about his teammates being able to openly joke about visiting brothels while he couldn’t even talk about his boyfriend. And so his sarcasm got harsher, his attitude toward the rookies bordered on rude, and he often refused to even talk to the media. His reputation for moodiness and anger was only growing. The only time he could relax anymore was with Emilio, or with his sister and mom.

“I don’t even know if I’m ready,” Kent said. “I’m just thinking out loud.” 

“If you  _ had _ to come out to one person, who would it be?” Emilio asked. 

Kent knew that answer right away, “Marc Alaire,” he answered. Marc was the biggest D-man on the team. “He has a twin sister who used to be his twin brother.” 

“Alaire has a Trans sister?” Emilio asked, intrigued. 

“Yeah,” Kent said. “He’s pretty open about it, being an ally.” 

“For God’s sake, why haven’t you told him yet?” 

“He’s a good guy, but he’s not like, one of my friends from the team. He’s a co-worker, but there are other teammates I’m better friends with.” 

“You’re their  _ Captain _ ,” Emilio pointed out. Kent didn’t see what that had to do with anything at all. Before he could respond, his cell phone rang. 

Whoever’s name Kent had been expecting to see pop up on his cell phone, it sure as fuck wasn’t Jack Zimmermann.  “Huh?” he asked himself as he swiped the button on his phone to answer it. “Zimms? You OK?” 

“Uh,” Jack said, sounding about as smooth as he always had. “Hi Kent.” 

“What’s going on? Is everything OK?” Kent’s first thought was that something had happened to Bob or Alicia. 

“Everything is fine,” Jack said. He sounded hesitant. 

Kent looked up and saw Emilio watching him carefully. Kent shrugged his shoulders, indicating he had no idea what was going on. “What is it?” 

“You remember when we went to that bookstore and got the last Harry Potter book together?” 

Now Kent was confused as fuck. “Yeah?” 

“I finally finished the series.” 

Kent covered his eyes with his hands. This was unbelievable. “You called me to tell me that you finished reading the  _ Harry Potter  _ series, nine years after the last book came out?” 

“The guys on my team - Samwell, that is - were doing the Pottermore quizzes and getting placed into a house, and I took the quiz. I didn’t know what being a Hufflepuff meant, so I reread the books. And, I don’t know. It made me think of you.” 

“You’re a Hufflepuff?” Kent asked.

“That’s how I was sorted.”

“That is  _ bullshit, _ ” Kent hissed. “You’re every bit the Slytherin that I am, I don’t care what Pottermore says.” 

“Well, officially I am a Hufflepuff,” Jack said. He sounded like he didn’t even  _ care _ where he was placed, which really rubbed Kent the wrong way. Because house placement was important, dammit. 

“What about your ambition?” Kent pressed. 

“What about it?” 

“You’ve always been even more ambitious than me, and if that got me in Slytherin, I don’t see why it didn’t get you into it.” 

“Kenny,” Jack said. “You’re reading too much into this.”

Kent snorted in response, then looked at Emilio, who was a true Hufflepuff, loyal and kind and fair. Jack Zimmermann was none of those things. His loyalty to Kent had stopped when things got rough for him. He didn’t call Kent at all once he left rehab. He left Kent floundering in a new city in a league not made for eighteen year old boys. Jack was supposed to have been his support, and he took that away from Kent without even caring about it, and that was the least Hufflepuff thing anyone could do.

“Kent. Are you OK?” Jack asked.

“Fine,” Kent said shortly. He looked down and watched Kit wind her way through his legs. “Why do you care?” 

“I care,” Jack said. “I cared enough to call you when I read the Potter books, eh?”  

Kent could hear it in Jack’s voice. “Is that the only reason you’re calling?” 

“Well,” Jack said. 

“I fucking knew it. Why are you really calling me now?” 

“I’m out to my team,” Jack said. “I have a boyfriend, and I’m not going to make a big announcement or anything but we also agreed I’m not going to hide him.”  

“And you’re telling me this because?” Kent asked, trying to sound flippant, but barely able to conceal his panic. 

“People will talk, Kenny.” Jack said. “There were always rumors about us, and it’ll take Twitter about two seconds to put it together and then they’ll come for you.” 

“Well, thanks so much for the heads-up,” Kent said sarcastically. “Thanks for even considering my feelings and asking me about it. You’re a real fucking gent, Zimms.” 

“How closeted are you?” Jack asked quietly. 

“Fuck you.” 

“It’s a shit way to live, isn’t it?” Jack asked. “But once word gets out about me, feel free to deny that we ever had a relationship. And I’ll do the same if you want me to.” 

“Of course I want you to,” Kent said. 

Jack went quiet for a few moments, “Kent, please tell me you have people who know that you’re gay.” 

Kent looked at Emilio again, who was busy cooking eggs in a skillet, but Kent could tell was listening carefully. Kent listed off everyone who knew about him on his fingers, “The guy I’m seeing, my mom, my sister and her husband, my therapist and Nancy from PR.” 

“That can’t be it.” 

“Maybe if I had almost died of a drug overdose too, I’d have people crawling out of the woodwork to support me no matter what.” 

“That’s unfair.” 

“We passed unfair eight years ago, Zimms. When I found you and thought you were dead. When I blamed myself for your problems, and you never called me to tell me otherwise.”

“You don’t still blame yourself, do you?” 

“Fuck you.” 

Jack went quiet. “OK, listen Kenny. I’m going to keep Eric on the downlow for a while longer. Until you and I can work some things out.”

Kent got up and started pacing. “Don’t be so god damn dramatic. We don’t  _ have _ anything to work out. You want to be the first out player in the NHL? Congrats, you fucking Boy Scout. You should have been sorted into fucking Gryffindor. I’ll deny it when they come for me, and we can go about our separate ways.” 

“You don’t have to deny it, you know,” Jack said. 

“Fu-”

Jack cut him off, “Don’t say fuck you again, please. Just think about it, all right? You don’t have to lie about anything. You don’t owe anyone else a lie to keep them comfortable.” 

“Your life is very different from mine,” Kent said. 

“I’m sure it is,” Jack said. “And listen. If it’s any comfort to you, nothing may come of this ever. The media will bend over backwards to explain away something that seems really gay. They’re very heteronormative that way.” 

“I’m not sure what that even means.” 

“It means I can go out to a romantic dinner with Eric, and the media will see two former teammates catching up over dinner, and not think anything is going on, unless I actually get caught giving him a handjob under the table.”  

“Wait, Eric? Your linemate from Samwell? Small, blond, fast as fuck on skates?”

“That’s him.”

“Boy, you sure have a type.” 

Jack chuckled, “It’s weird to hear you say that about someone who’s bisexual. Not having a type is kind of our thing.” 

“Where was he sorted on Pottermore?” 

“Gryffindor,” Jack said. “But he seems more like a Hufflepuff to me. How about your boyfriend?”

“Hufflepuff. Exactly where he belongs.” Kent and Emilio locked eyes, and Kent gave a tentative smile. 

“I’m happy for you, Kent. Even if you don’t believe me, I am.” 

“Thanks,” Kent grunted. Not quite ready to let go of old resentments and tell Jack that he was happy for him. 

Kent and Jack got off the phone a few minutes later. The eggs Emilio had made were getting cold on the plate. “So,” Emilio said. “The NHL player you told me about is Jack Zimmermann?” 

“Mm-hmm,” Kent said. “You surprised?”

“Not at all,” Emilio said, smiling. He sat on the stool next to Kent. “You know I Googled the fuck outta you right after we had coffee that first day. I know there were rumors.” 

“All true, it turns out.” 

“You want to talk about it?” 

“Yes,” Kent said. “But first, maybe I should call Marc Alaire and see if he and his wife want to come over for dinner next week.”

“OK?” Emilio said, confused. 

“With you here,” Kent clarified. 

Emilio grinned, “Only if you’re sure.” 

“I’m sure.”   
  


**June 2017**

“I can’t believe I’m about to do this,” Kent laughed, slipping on his Slytherin robes and snapping them in the front. He looked in the mirror, and had to admit, he liked the look. Grey pants, white shirt with a green and silver tie, and those Slytherin robes he’d gotten from the Halloween store many years ago. He was glad he was in Slytherin, the green in the tie and on the robe brought out a green quality in his eyes. His mom always said she never could quite tell what color his eyes were. She called them mood-ring eyes.

“It’s for your niece,” Marc reminded him, pulling a wand out of his bag and handing it to Kent. 

“I know,” Kent said. “I can’t believe I didn’t talk this over with Nancy though.” 

“Better to ask forgiveness than permission.” 

Kent laughed. They’d just won the first game of the Stanley Cup finals in Vegas. As Captain, Kent was expected to do a press conference as soon as he was done showering and dressing. Only he’d planned on doing it dressed as a wizard for Sophie’s tenth birthday. 

As he walked out of the locker room toward the press room, he got a lot of grins from other players who knew what was up. Nancy looked tired and like she didn’t even want to argue as she saw him enter the press room to nervous laughter from the press. 

He sat down at the table, set his wand down carefully, and took a drink of water. “Yes?” he asked innocently. 

“What’s up with the costume?” Came the first question.

“Happy tenth birthday, Sophie,” he answered. 

“Who is Sophie?” 

“My niece,” Kent answered. “We share a love of Harry Potter.” 

“Tell us about the game,” one reporter said, as the laughter died down. 

“Well, it was tough. The seven of us up there on our brooms. Those bludgers were really coming for me, but I managed to hold onto that Quaffle-” he was cut off by another reporter.

“What?” 

“Oh! You meant the hockey game, not the Quidditch match?” 

There were a few more question about hockey that Kent managed to answer seriously, before bringing up Potter again. “I’m definitely banged up,” Kent said to a question about injuries. “Small things here and there, but nothing Madame Pomfrey can’t handle.” 

“Who?” 

“Oh, the matron at Hogwarts. You know, up in the hospital wing. I know, I know. It’s been years since I’ve been at Hogwarts. But she really is the best. I haven’t found another healer I trust in all this time.” 

“Kent, does this have anything to do with the Vegas Quidditch team you supported a couple of years ago?” 

“I met a lot of great people from that team, and I’ve remained friends with some of them,” Kent answered vaguely. “As you know, muggles like hockey but wizards do prefer Quidditch. As a muggle-born wizard, I often feel that I’m straddling both worlds.”    
“So you think you could have played quidditch professionally?” asked a reporter, clearly enjoying herself. 

“Possibly,” Kent said. “But I made my choice when I chose skates over brooms. And look, here we are in the Stanley Cup final. I think it was the right choice.” 

After the presser, Kent made his way back to the locker room, where most of his teammates plus Emilio were crowded around the television which was carrying the press conference feed. They all smiled as Kent walked in, but something was off. The locker room though crowded and they’d just won a really important game, was quiet. There were whispers and glances at Kent. 

Marc spoke first, slapping Kent on the back, “Good one! You’ll get some good coverage bro.”

Kent laughed, “Thanks.” 

“I hope it’s OK we snuck your boy in,” said Marc, pointing to Emilio. 

“Of course. Thanks.” 

He and Emilio exchanged grins, but didn’t touch. Kent didn’t like showing Emilio any affection in front of his team. His teammates had been mostly OK about his coming out to them, and had been great about keeping his secret. But it was obvious to Kent that if he hadn’t been their Captain, and wasn’t far and away the best player on the team, and if he hadn’t had the absolute support of the entire Aces front office staff, some of his teammates wouldn’t be so accepting. 

“I would have gone with Hufflepuff,” Emilio said, playing with the collar of Kent’s robe. 

Kent rolled his eyes, “Please. The costume shops only carry Gryffindor and Slytherin. You know that.” 

“Anti-Hufflepuff sentiments,” Emilio said in mock anger. “Congrats on the win.” 

“Thanks, babe.” 

“Your presser will definitely detract from the other big hockey news.” The team around him stilled, and Kent realized that something big had happened in the few minutes he was in the press conference. They’d probably all agreed to let Emilio talk to Kent first. 

“What’s that?” 

Emilio pulled out his phone, and handed it to Kent. “This just broke about two minutes ago.” There was a picture on the front of ESPN.com. It was Jack Zimmermann, at the beach after having been eliminated from the playoffs in the last round, lying on a beach towel with Eric Bittle looking very….cozy. Cozy in a very non-heteronormative way. 

Kent shrugged. A year ago, this news would have sent him into a tailspin. But now, he had Emilio, he had support on his team. He didn’t feel like he wanted to canoodle Emilio in public like Jack was with Eric, but he also didn’t feel like he needed to lie. “We’re in the finals,” Kent said, talking to Emilio, but loudly enough for the rest of his team to hear. He was using his Captain voice. “I’m not worrying about anything else until this is over, and I don’t want anyone else to either.” 

“The questions…”  One teammate said, sounding very unsure. 

“Deflect,” Kent ordered. “Deflect them to me or Nancy. You can outright lie, and say you have no idea. There’s nothing for you to answer about my life. That’s up to me.” 

“It’s fine, brother.” Marc said in his soothing Quebec accent that always reminded Kent of Jack. “We’ve got this. We’ve got you, Cap.” 

“And if all else fails,” Emilio answered. “Just pretend you’re a wizard again.” 

**Author's Note:**

> The last scene where Kent does his presser dressed as a wizard is based on Seattle Seahawks player Richard Sherman doing the same thing a few years ago. You can find the video on You Tube. I wrote the entire fic around the idea of Kent doing a press conference as a wizard. 
> 
> Also, I wrote this WELL before Ngozi asked everyone on Twitter what houses the characters are in. So, like, I'm not trying to add gas to the flames by having Kent be in Slytherin (which he totally would) or Jack be in Hufflepuff (I agree with Kent that he's more Slytherin, possibly with Ravenclaw tendencies) or Bitty being in Gryffindor (That boy is a total Neville-like Gryffindor. He seems misplaced at first but when all is said and done you'll see that he belongs in the house of courage. No doubt.)


End file.
